Unraveled
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: The tapestry of a life, unfurled from end to its beginning; a quilt of one-hundred's.


**Unraveled**

The tapestry of a life, unfurled from end to its beginning; a quilt of one-hundred's.

_Happy Birthday – late though it may be – to Alex, Joy, Kate, and Sheep, with thanks and appreciation. _

* * *

.

He drowns in the stark white pillow on the bed, no contrast between skin and fabric. It's the first time he's ever seemed small.

When his eyes close for the last time she feels relief, above all. His last breath rattles, wheezes from his lungs and there is peace.

No more pain.

He's held on longer than he could bear. For her.

Her son's palm rests on her shoulder, soft pressure that fractures her bones, ruptures her lungs, the ache unbearable.

She knows she's soon to follow; her heart broken beyond repair.

She hasn't been without him for forty-nine years.

.

* * *

.

Her toes curl into the yielding sand, its surface warmed by the steady rays of a late September sun.

He wraps his fingers around hers, his skin paper-thin but his touch as warm as ever; love that soaks into her skin, infuses her blood, her heart.

Age brought tranquility to their lives; serenity after a weathered path, the gift of boundless memories.

Streaks of red bleed across the horizon as the sun sinks into the ocean before their eyes, waves lapping onto the shore, brushing sea foam across their toes.

He writes; a love note scrawled into the sand.

_Always._

_._

* * *

.

She sinks against his chest, her cheek to his shoulder, into the guidance of his arm curled around the slim of her back. She's afloat, her body weightless as they traverse the dance floor to the distant croon of Etta's 'At Last.'

The smiles around them blend, eddy into one as their children, grand-children, friends watch the syncopated beats of their embrace under the arch of the banner strung across this day.

Happy 40th Anniversary.

Let's make it fifty, he murmurs, his thumb grazing the tender skin of her wrist. Her eyelids flutter, brush his jaw as she smiles.

Yes.

.

* * *

.

His fingers stop; she mewls, arches her chest for the fire of his touch but his brow is furrowed, his fingertips arrested on her sensitive flesh.

The knot is minuscule and her world tilts off its axis.

She cries; bitter tears at the strands of her hair clumped in her brush, the shimmering rag rug of white scalp.

He holds her through the wretched upheaval of her body; breathless agony and bouts of anger, her body sapped of all that is life.

She fights. Battles for the beauty of all they've built, the years they've yet to live.

She wins.

.

* * *

.

Grace dies dramatically; knees buckling and a slow sink into the bed of pillows as she exhales her final breath. Kate watches breathlessly, her nails dug into her husband's palm, sharp enough to leave crescent marks.

Then the curtain falls and the audience roars to life around them, applause rolling like thunder and they are on their feet, swept away by their daughter's astonishing talent.

She glances at Castle, his eyes watery, the shine of pride misted with wistfulness at his child in her first starring role. She slips her hand in his, squeezes his fingers.

Martha would've been proud.

.

* * *

.

Colin is a complete surprise.

She is forty-two, way past her prime she thinks, and the fear is stark, an anguished coil in her gut.

He grows quietly, as if he knows, even his kicks soft as he stretches within her.

There's no pain, only pressure as she pushes through the fog of meds, Castle's broad chest against her back in gentle support.

She reaches down when instructed, her fingers guided around the slippery head and then the baby glides into her waiting hands and she delivers him onto her chest, wet and tiny and mewling.

Her beautiful baby boy.

.

* * *

.

Pink ruffles flutter in the breeze when the baby bends down, little diapered butt raised into the air, her fingers curiously digging through the sand.

The sun burns hot on Kate's back, the sweltering July heat cut by the ocean breeze that rustles her hair. She sighs, wraps her arms around her knees.

This year demarcates the line she always feared, the sharp cut of more years spent without her mother than with. The ache is vivid, cloying.

Grace giggles, bright, joyful peals as Castle spins her around and Kate smiles, the tingle of pleasure expanding, unfailingly alleviating her grief.

.

* * *

.

She claws through the murkiness that drowns her brain, her eyes fluttering open to the blinding glare of hospital lights.

There are voices, words she thinks should make sense but don't, blood loss, placental abruption and her hands fly to her stomach, agony and grief like desolate hooks in her heart.

She's here, his calm voice cuts through the sea of noise and then she sees, her heart yearning for the tiny being he holds cradled to his chest.

He places her in her arms and the baby looks up at her, her eyes wide, already so perceptive.

Welcome, Grace.

.

* * *

.

The dress pools around her feet, white shimmering fabric sprawled over cherry wood flooring, and the island breeze whispers softly around her.

You're so beautiful, he hums into her skin, lips skating along the planes of her shoulder blades, the hills and valleys of her spine.

His fingers map naked lines, trail over subtle curves and her breath flutters, her blood effervescent, humming in her veins. She captures his hand as he caresses her stomach, twines her fingers through his.

The bands kiss, shining platinum over tan skin.

We're married, she whispers, still enchanted by its magic.

It never fades.

.

* * *

.

He rolls her into his arms and water sloshes over the rim of the tub, the crack, sizzle, pop of bubbles echoing off the tiles. His mouth hot on hers, the pool of arousal eager as it uncoils with each slide and press of their bodies, warm wet skin and slippery limbs.

Marry me.

His words drown in splashes of water and she blinks, her heart a fluttering, yearning thing in her chest. Her nails dig into his neck as she moves above him, the clench of her core vibrating through her limbs, waiting, wanting_, please_.

Marry me, Kate.

Yes.

.

* * *

.

She knows this is it.

She comes to him, clothes soaked and skin clammy, raindrops mingling with the hot spill of tears across her cheek as she offers him her heart, cracked open and exposed, beating just for him.

Reaching for him, fingers gripped into the soft fabric of his shirt, she lays claim to the heat of his mouth. Reaches for their future, this intangible path that lies ahead, an unending reel of experiences, memories, lives shared if only they take it.

His eyes are fathomlessly dark, his lips opening to hers and she knows.

I just want you.

.

* * *

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**AN:** Inspired by a graphic prompt by Fembot77 – swing by my Tumblr or visit HERE to see the artwork that accompanies the story: nic6879 _dot_ tumblr _dot_ com _slash_ post _slash_ 41558450696 _slash_ castle-prompt 


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